Doldrums
by ennuiville
Summary: Hermione brought back to life after a fatal gunshot Draco destined to cross paths with a girl with a streak of white hair. Series stopped indefinitely.
1. Overture

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to JK Rowling.

**Title: Doldrums**

**Pairing: Draco/Hermione**

**Rating: PG 13**

**Overture**

"Mum!" A bushy-haired girl cried out in terror at the sight of two armed robbers swinging their guns at the customers.

The entire situation in the bank was extremely chaotic. Huddled at a corner, most of the terrified customers squatted on the floor with their hands over their heads, not daring so much as to catch a glimpse at the robbers directly in the face for fear of their lives. When one of the customers, a fat middle-aged woman tried to dash for the entrance, one of the two robbers speedily shot her in the throat, releasing spurts of blood from the damaged arteries. Clutching at the injured spot in an attempt to stop the flow of the blood and pain, the woman tripped over her worn-out slippers and fell clumsily onto the blood-splattered floor. The bridge of her nose hit the floor first and everyone shuddered in dread as they heard an amplified crack of the bridge of her nose. Those customers squatting nearest her fallen body recoiled in horror and revulsion at the sight of the bone protruding out of her nose. Tributaries of blood were steadily flowing out of the wound and onto the floor. Although she did not die an instantaneous death from the shot, it was evident her death was only a matter of time. And in this case, it was only a matter of about ten minutes or even less.

Hermione stared in shock at the blood as her mother pulled her as close as she could to her body, afraid that her only daughter would meet with a similar fate. Suddenly, Hermione noticed a shadow over them. The next thing she knew, the robber had hauled her mother away from her and was pointing a gun to her head.

"If anybody moves even an inch, that _anybody_ would end up like that fat corpse on the floor," sneered the robber cruelly before turning towards Hermione's mother, "and _you_ will be my ticket to a successful getaway."

"Do not touch my mummy!" yelled Hermione in anger as she lunged herself at the robber.

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The mist created by the steaming hot tea hovered uncertainly in the air for some seconds as though contemplating its final moments before the thick, gloomy air engulfed it completely. Without further ado, the seer gulped down the boiling hot tea without demonstrating any signs of scalding her throat or burning her tongue. After that, as if age has finally caught up with her after performing that significantly impossible act, she set the cup down slowly on the table before her.

A blond man, whose face has been etched with fine wrinkles around his eyes, pursed his lips impatiently. "Well, what does it say?"

She did not reply. Instead, she peered intently through her thick glasses, whose surfaces had been compounded with scratches, oily fingerprints and smudges. Her filthy appearance matched her equally grubby shop well. Draco thought as he looked at the cluttered surroundings with distaste. It was nothing like the Malfoy Manor at all. Turning his attention back to the seer sitting before him, he could not, in his mind, imagine how anyone could see clearly through such glasses. Hoping to convey his doubts to his edgy father, he threw a glance in his direction but the older Malfoy ignored him completely.

"Despite these godforsaken glasses, I can see quite clearly, young man."

The seer's eyes pierced through his soul, making the younger Malfoy squirm in his seat. He hated anyone reading his thoughts, be it intentional or not. As if he wanted to throw a retort at the older woman, Draco opened his mouth but his impeccable manners forbade him to say anything rude to the seer. Moreover, his father was glaring furiously at him. If his father continued to be in a bad mood, he would definitely not permit Draco to get the broomstick he so wanted for his birthday next week. Huffed, the younger Malfoy kept his mouth shut while he waited for the much respected seer to continue with her words.

"I also know that your destiny is intertwined with a Muggle-born. A girl…"

"A mudblood?!" Lucius spat and tapped his cane angrily on the floorboards, his disgust for what he considered to be the lower species on the hierarchy evident. He could not believe his firstborn and a Pureblood for that matter would be in any way associated with a foul, soiled mudblood-- a mudblood that would be trampled upon by all the Purebloods in the near future when the Great Lord took over. No way was the older Malfoy going to let a stupid mudblood foil his ambitious plans for his son. He narrowed his eyes in irritation at Draco, causing the younger Malfoy to draw back in dread at what was to erupt from his father.

The seer wiped Lucius' saliva from her face with her dust-coated sleeves, making her face dirtier with that action.

"I would refrain from saying that word in my shop."

"Are you sure…" Lucius started when the seer raised her hand and motioned him to continue no further.

"As I was saying before you interrupted me, that Muggle-born would have a streak of white hair."

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"Do not touch my mummy!" yelled Hermione in anger as she lunged herself at the robber.

As if on cue, the customers reacted instantly. Irrational fear had given way to an equally irrational behaviour, with absolutely no regards to anyone's safety, save for their own. All they could think of that moment in time was to head for the entrance. The entrance was their gateway to survival. At the unexpected turnabout of events, the two robbers stood rooted on the floor and were at a loss of ideas to deal with the unruly situation. However, one of the robbers recovered his composure immediately and began shooting at the running customers. It did not matter to him whether anyone got shot; he merely wanted the situation under control. Yet, once the enormous wheels of action had been put into motion, it would be an extremely arduous task to stop them. And this was what happened with the stampede. More shots rang out in the air but to no avail.

The law enforcers did not rest on their feet either. The minute the first customer stepped out of the bank in hysteria, they stormed into the place without much ado. All they found was three dead people: a fat lady and two masked men with bullet holes all over them. In the centre of the bank, a dazed woman was cradling an unmoving figure in her arms, crying and calling out her name in despair.

"Hermione… oh Hermione… my poor child…"

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The unconscious girl was barely breathing when the nurses wheeled her into the emergency room. Despite delivering electrical shocks to the heart using the defibrillator, her heart failed to respond. The monitor displayed a straight line throughout the procedure in addition to the production of the ever annoying sound the surgeons hated very much. Not only did it sound like a siren to their ears, it also appeared to proclaim the surgeons' incapability for the world to mock. They could not allow a death to taint their clean slate of a hundred percent success rate in surgeries. That would be a felony in itself. With those thoughts in mind, the surgeons did everything possible to bring her back to life again.

However, little did the surgeons realise a strange phenomenon was taking place in the still body lying on the surgical table.

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"A streak of white hair?" Crabbe uttered stupidly between bites of the tuna croissant he had bought at the corner of the street prior to meeting Draco and Goyle, "How bizarre can a prophecy get?"

Draco ran his hand through his blond hair. "Can you imagine my destiny entwined with a _mudblood_? Now what would my father think of me?!"

"On the bright side, at least we can be mindful of any Muggle-borns with a streak of white hair?" Goyle glanced in Draco's direction, his chubby lips curving into a wide grin, displaying a set of white teeth stained with the residues of his chocolate bun. "This is a delicious bun. You want one, Draco?"

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Realising the impossibility to revive the girl, the exhausted surgeons finally decided to resign to the outcome and pronounced the patient dead. With that, they excused themselves from the room, leaving the nurses to clear up the operating theatre and wheel the corpse to the morgue in the hospital. A petite nurse draped a white sheet over the body while another sterilised the surgical instruments at the other end of the room.

In the motionless body on the surgical table, a strange phenomenon was occurring. Tiny wisps of white hair could be seen sprouting at the periphery of the scalp near the top of the forehead. At the hair fringe area, the process of melanogenesis had mysteriously stopped its operation as opposed to the rest of the hair sections which did not experience a similar fate. The vulnerable melanocytes at the hair fringe area fretted at their inability to produce their offspring- melanin, needed to maintain the brown colour of Hermione's hair. In the absence of melanin, Hermione's hair would lose their brown colour and change into a white colour. Moreover, a stronger force, much more powerful than them was slowly destroying the melanocytes in the hair bulbs. The melanocytes could not understand how this could happen. Although the body hosting them had died, it did not mean that they had to stop working like the rest of the body mechanisms did. It had always been their practice to continue serving the host until the body started to age. Yet, the melanocytes were more than convinced that they were in a young body which had not reached the phase of ageing. As a result, the melanocytes at the hair fringe area found themselves at a loss as to the solutions to the inexplicable force that threatened to destroy them alive. The rest of the melanocytes in the other hair sections could only look on in helpless horror at their counterparts' slow death.

The nurses were still at their task of clearing up the operating theatre with at an efficiency that would have made their head nurse very proud of them. When one of the nurses came around to Hermione to move the cardiac monitor from the surgery theatre, she noticed a tuft of white hair jutting out from under the white sheet. Priding herself for having one of the best memories amongst the nurses, she distinctly recalled noticing the patient's bushy brown hair during the operation. Where did the white hair come from? Unable to quench the thirst of curiosity at that point in time, she pulled up the sheet only to break the silence in the room with her horrified screams.

"What's the problem, Beth?"

Beth's colleague, Mary quickly moved towards her, who stood rooted to the ground and pointed to the uncovered body of the corpse. Or what used to be a corpse for the girl's eyes was now wide open and directed at the flabbergasted nurse. Her equally aghast eyes took in the weak smile adorned on her pale face and …

… the white fringe that fell across her face.

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Melanogenesis is a process in which melanin, a hair pigment is produced.

Thank you for reading this little work of mine!


	2. On Their Way to Hogwarts I

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to JK Rowling.

Title: Doldrums

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Rating: PG 13

Hermione and Draco are in their third year into Hogwarts.

On their Way to Hogwarts 

_For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin--real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be got through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life._

Alfred D'souza

It was no good. It was no good at all. She stared at the damp bushy hair in the mirror in frustration as she dried it with a hair dryer. The product had failed to rise up to her expectations as did the last few products she had bought. The actual colour of the hair dye turned out to be of a lighter tinge of brown instead of its darker counterpart and only served to highlight the disparity between the now light brown hair fringe against the darker brown colour of the rest of her hair. Eyebrows knitted into a fierce frown, she threw the latest bottle of hair dye onto her bed, removed the protective gloves from her hands and dumped them onto the dressing table. An aggravated Hermione fell onto her bed, which had lots of different brands of hair dye products strewn all over it.

Hermione hated to dye any part of her hair because not only would the dye ruin her hair; it also had a very pungent smell. Yet, to dye her hair was imperative if she was to stay on in a Muggle school. She recalled the first day she stepped into the school compound, only to be hurled roughly by the collar by the school discipline master to the principal's office to be lectured for breaking the school rule. Apparently, the headmaster and discipline master were under the impression that Hermione had dyed her fringe white to make a fashion statement or as an act of rebellion against the school authorities. Despite the explanations she offered for her seemingly offensive act, the headmaster refused to believe her and ordered her to dye her fringe back to its original colour again. Although she had later dyed her fringe brown, it seemed as if the first impression of her with her white fringe would last throughout the school term. Her classmates would engage in pranks directed at her and call her names. More often than not, the teachers would assume the "culprit" of those undesirable pranks to be Hermione. Therefore, frequent trips to the headmaster's office were unavoidable. Sometimes Hermione could be forced to go to the headmaster's office more than thrice in a single hour.

The white fringe aside, Hermione as a person was also suspect in her peers' eyes. Hermione was never comfortable around her peers. For one, she was an extreme study-aholic, if such a word ever existed. While hardworking was her middle name, boringly serious was her nickname. Never once was she seen without a book thick enough to give the "Book of Shadows" in _Charmed_ a run for its money. In short, she preferred studying to her peers, who very much favoured shopping and gossiping to studying. Furthermore, topics which Hermione could never relate to often cropped up in the middle of their project discussions. Did Hermione see the girl with elephant thighs lumbering down the hallway earlier? When the said girl walked past them, the ground underneath everyone literally shook like the experience one got prior to an earthquake. The way Hermione's peers sneered at those they deemed to be below them in status and appearances made the protagonist shudder with apprehension at the insensitive gossip they would say behind her back.

Despite their undesirable character traits, Hermione never once despised them. In fact, she loved them for some reason unbeknownst to her. Considering her present situation, perhaps she thought she was in no position to chastise them. Or perhaps she was just being sympathetic to their pretentious selves. After all, once her peers were stripped of all the tittle-tattle and contemptuous attitude towards those they considered to be lower to them in the social hierarchy, they were just people devoid of personalities and a sense of self identity. A sense of identity was very important to the existence of a human being. It gave meaning to his life, as if to tell him that his entire life was not lived out in vain. Most of the time, people needed to do certain things to affirm their self-existence once in a while. Some athletes loved the glory of winning medals on the track because according to some perceptions, the notion of winning others was a demonstration of their prowess. However, these same people failed to consider the effect of winning on the athletes' psychological selves. To these athletes, winning gives them something to look forward to in life. When life became tough, winning is a pillar of support for them. Without the notion of winning, life ceased to be of meaning to them. Therefore, Hermione never blamed her peers for gossiping behind others' backs, though she thought they could channel some of that negative energy into something more productive. It was a waste of time gossiping about others while that time could be spent on cleaning up her bedroom, reading a book or even playing a sport. However, much as she did not approve of their behaviour, she never sought to change them or their personalities for that matter. No, she was not as noble as that. Voicing her true opinions would be a detriment to her relationship with her peers. They would never listen to her at any rate because she knew exactly their feelings towards her. As long as she could still hold on to the tangible relationship, though fragile, she never minded suppressing her emotions or views about certain matters. At least, she would not be alone. That was what mattered most.

She did not want to be alone anymore.

Loneliness was not something she could cope with ease. She realised that now. Actually, she came to the realisation on the very first day of school. It was unbearable and she was not accustomed to it at all. Throughout her childhood days, her parents had surrounded her with all the warmth and love they could shower her with. It was therefore a shock to her when she was ostracised on the first day of school, and she was very miserable. What had she done to deserve the cold shoulder her classmates gave her? The white fringe appeared so ludicrous a reason to begin with. She did not ask for it. It just occurred but nobody understood that principle that some things could happen without a rhyme or reason. People chose to find a cause, fallacious or fabricated it might be, to shift the blame on because they wanted to understand something they did not understand. To these people, whether the knowledge was true or false was never an issue. Finding a reason to satisfy that loophole in their understanding was of more importance than anything else. They could not admit to themselves or anyone else for that matter, that there was actually something in this world they did not comprehend. Furthermore, the idea of knowing something stabilized their otherwise turbulent life. Their lives already had their own heap of worries as it were. Why would they want to worry about little things like Hermione's hair when they could just dismiss it with a stupid reason? It was strangely comforting; perverse that might appear, to live with the assumed knowledge, while suppressing the part of the brain that was acutely aware of the erroneous belief in that assumed knowledge.

Hence, every day, Hermione ate her lunch in the noisy, unruly cafeteria alone at a corner, as if there were an invisible wall separating her and the rest of the students in the cafeteria. At her corner, everything seemed to come to a standstill; time halted in its endless movement. Everybody ceased to exist. She was in the world but in a world that only belonged to her and no one else. Initially, she was not comfortable with such a feeling- the feeling of loneliness, so she took up reading to occupy her time. That way, she would have no time to think about anything else. Books consoled her lonely self and accompanied her through the difficult days when no one else would. From books, she gained an invaluable and inseparable companion she never thought possible. Yet, they could never replace human beings with their life and vitality.

Hermione recognized the fact that she was never as adapted to loneliness as she initially thought herself to be. And it was her present peers with their gossipy personalities that brought her to that realisation.

For one, she missed the warmth they emanated and the sense of reality they brought to her; the sense that time was consistently moving on without stopping for her; without waiting for her. She recalled reading such a proverb in a book once. Time and tide waits for no man. She was the one who had stopped in her footsteps and never moved hence after. Time did not. Time would never wait for anyone. Time did not have the capacity or ability to do so. Only human beings possessed that ability. That was when she comprehended the fact that reading would only cause her lose herself in the false reality her books created for her. She experienced day and night as the characters in the books did; experienced various feelings of grief or happiness, anger or peace as the characters in the books did. Although she no longer felt lonesome, she could not shake off something nagging at her at the back of her mind.

And that was reality.

Only through contact with real human beings could she experience a true sense of reality. Thus, she was more than grateful when her gossipy peers finally took notice of her. Whether it was pity or something else on their part, she did not mind. At least, she was somewhat in touch with reality. Yet, she could never fully be comfortable with her peers either, so she was often stuck between these two contradictions. Sometimes when her friends were talking amongst themselves, she merely wanted to hole up in some godforsaken corner of a room and read her book. However, there were also times she would rather listen to the endless but meaningless speeches her peers made than reading her book. Though it only occurred once in a blue moon, she would just want to tear her hair apart when she was unable to decide what she truly wanted.

At times, Hermione would wonder what happened in the operating theatre that day she was wheeled into it. The nurses gave vague answers as to how they found her alive even though she was already dead for more than half an hour. Even the doctors could not explain her situation. Tests were carried out on her blood, skin tissue and hair samples but the results showed nothing of the extraordinary. The only thing the doctors could tell her conclusively was that the melanocytes in the hair bulbs at the fringe area suddenly died and stopped producing melanin; hence the white roots seen at the hair fringe. But as to how the entire fringe became white, the doctors was totally clueless as to the explanations for so strange and rare a phenomenon. Thus, it appeared as though Hermione was destined to live a school life filled with her classmates' taunts and sniggers and listening quietly, though uncomfortably to her peers' derisive remarks about other schoolmates. That was until she received a letter from Hogwarts. As she was not aware that there were actually wizards in this world, she was very surprised to realise that a school for wizards existed. She did not know whether to feel flattered or honoured to be chosen to enrol in such a prestigious and ancient wizardry school.

Magic!!! That was it! That was the solution to her problem. With magic, she could change her white fringe into brown. At the same time, she feared that the real wizards were not as progressive as she imagined them to be. Muggle books had always portrayed wizards either as precursors of the future or jackasses of the present. Fervently, Hermione had hoped the wizards would not be as narrow-minded as the Muggle-borns had been. Besides, Hogwarts was a name she had already taken a liking to. She was sure she would enjoy school life there. True to her instincts, she enjoyed her life at Hogwarts more than she did at her Muggle school. Although the process took some time, she made firm friends with dependable Harry and Ron. Only when she was with them could she safely be herself, though to a certain extent. They were still in the dark about her white fringe. Hermione could not work up enough courage to confess to them about it yet. Moreover, she was not certain whether to take chances with the other wizards or not. As a precaution, she thought it a wiser move to dye her fringe brown instead of flaunting the white fringe, which might invite more questions or unkind remarks, which she possessed no desire to hear again. And that would be the way of life until one day while she could find the right spell to right her appearance. Little did she realise she would have to wait for another year before she could finally fulfil that one and utmost desire she had harboured since that day in the hospital.

"Hermione!" Her mother called out from the stairway, breaking Hermione out of her thoughts. "Time to go to the train station!"

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The train station oversaw a bustling activity with an atmosphere akin to that of the airport. There were teary goodbyes as parents held their children tightly in their embrace for the last time before parting unwillingly with their precious ones. Other parents were busy squeezing the various medications, vitamin pills and snacks which they had bought at the very last minute from the stalls located in the train station into their children's already bulging suitcases. As the schoolmates from the same House were reunited again, they greeted one another excitedly and shared warm, ecstatic hugs with one another. After that, they lapsed into animated chatters, updating one another on the latest developments in their lives and catching up on the latest gossip about their schoolmates and teachers. Some of the girls were happily exchanging fashion tips and passing the latest fashion magazines around their friends. This vibrant scene contrasted starkly with the solemn atmosphere emanated from a family at the corner of the train station.

"Did you hear what I said, Draco?" In order to augment his warning, Lucius rapped his cane hard on the ground. "Do _not_ do anything that would potentially embarrass or ruin the Malfoy name."

At that moment, Draco was trying his best to indicate to his pals, Crabbe and Goyle to give him a hand in shaking his father off his back. Keeping his eyes in the direction where they were situated, Draco narrowed his eyes at times and pursed his lips in the hope of passing on his message to the two thickheads. Much as Crabbe and Goyle were muddle-headed and foolish, they could not mistake the pleading signal their leader was sending to them but both shook their heads fervently. The word fear was written all over their faces. Helping Draco was one matter but going against Lucius in the process of doing so would be a huge mistake which they were reluctant to make. While Crabbe pointed his fat and short index finger towards the carriage and hurriedly boarded the train without waiting for Draco's response, Goyle pretended that he did not see Draco and busied himself with lugging his baggage onto the train.

Mentally cursing the two spineless pea brains, Draco muttered mechanically under his breath, like a robot repeating the lines keyed into his programme. "Yes, Father."

"Yes" and "No" were standard answers in a Malfoy family because the questions were always phrased in a way that merely required a mundane "yes" or "no". Draco knew his father too well. Each question his father posed to anyone had a specific agenda and he only wanted to hear the other party concur with the responses Lucius had in mind, not anything contrary to Lucius' responses. To this day, nobody but Dumbledore dared to oppose his unspoken rule. Even those in the Ministry of Magic had to give way to Lucius sometimes unless backed by Dumbledore, of course. Lengthy answers were also a huge taboo when speaking to the older Malfoy because they would only invite questions and doubts that might deviate from his line of thought, so Lucius hated anyone giving him lengthy answers.

"Did you hear what I just said, Draco?" Impatiently, the older Malfoy rapped his cane on the ground again to show his disapproval at his son's inaudible reply to his question. Never one to like feeble responses to his questions, he was especially critical and harsh when his son answered in that undesirable tone. For Lucius, feeble responses were an obvious sign of frailty and weakness, which did not augur well for the great Malfoy name. Anyone born to the Malfoy lineage had always been powerful and influential wizards, whom everyone feared and his son was no exception. Lucius did not raise his son to be a weakling but one destined for a great future.

Angrily, Lucius gritted his teeth as the prophecy the seer told him years ago popped into his mind. For years now, he never forgot the humiliating thought of his son's destiny intertwined with a mudblood. To have the pure blood of a Malfoy tainted with the impurity of a mudblood was the worst and most unforgivable sin a Malfoy could ever commit in his lifetime. To prevent that from happening, from that day of the given prophecy, Lucius became stricter with Draco, constantly brainwashing him with disdainful remarks of how all mudbloods were always beneath them, both in status and wizardry. Therefore, it was with great displeasure when he learnt that Hermione, a mudblood excelling in all areas which Draco should have excelled instead.

"Yes, Father." Draco repeated his earlier words with more confidence and forcefulness as compared to his previous attempt, hoping that would temporarily ward off his father and ease out of the uncomfortable situation.

Despite the deafening chatter created when everyone simultaneously spoke in loud volumes on Platform 9 ¾ , Draco could hear the threatening undertone in his father's voice very clearly. The lighting on the platform highlighted his father's fine wrinkles running like railway tracks on his forehead, adding to the stern imposing stature Draco always knew his father to be. Whenever Lucius frowned, the wrinkles would become especially more prominent and protrude from his smooth pale forehead. The Muggle proverb was absolutely true. Time and tide indeed waited for no man. No matter how influential or wealthy his father was, he would still age just like any other ordinary human beings. Nevertheless, Lucius did not seem to be concerned with that. His only one ambition in life was to become the most powerful wizard and that the Malfoy name was one which would be admired and feared throughout the wizarding world. Therefore, he spent much of his life building up the Malfoy reputation and of course, Draco was expected to do the same.

With his father around, Draco was always very conscious of time. In fact, it was not an exaggeration to say that his entire life was run on schedule every day. Promptly, at four every morning, he had to wake up. Then, he was given thirty minutes to wash up, after which he was expected to finish his breakfast alone in the dining room within thirty minutes. Punctually, at five, he would commence his first lesson of the day, which was Latin. The duration of every lesson was an hour and altogether, he would have to attend seven lessons before he could get to enjoy an hour's break for lunch. Following that, he would have two hours of self study sessions, another three for lessons and one hour of sport before his day ended. Even then, he had very little time left to play for he must be in bed by nine every night. It was very exhausting to repeat the same routine day after day. Occasionally, he would wish that there was a spell to stop time; not temporarily but forever. He wanted some time to himself, though he was not sure how he would use this "time". Maybe he could space out and think of nothing, something he had not done for a long time. Once Lucius caught him doing it and naturally, Draco was then harshly and firmly warned against doing so in the confines of his home or in Hogwarts. Although Draco dutifully complied with what his father required of him, he had never once gained the older Malfoy's absolute trust and confidence in him.

Draco wondered if that was because of the prophecy the seer said years ago but Draco knew that was a silly question. A vehement detractor of Muggle-borns, though more within the confines of the Malfoy mansions than in other places, Lucius never halted for a second on demonstrating his disgust for the Muggle-borns. Like the Slytherin ancestor, he never had a liking for Muggle-borns and always thought magic should only be practised among the purebloods. Knowing his father's disdain for Muggle-borns, Draco had stayed as far away from them as he could, though he acknowledged there was one Muggle-born who invaded his life all this while.

Hermione.

If only she had not been so intelligent and good in her studies, perhaps his father would have more faith in him as a person. And the fact that she was a Muggle-born was greatly to his disadvantage. Because of that, he could never suppress his urge to throw cruel retorts into her face whenever he caught glimpses of her at Hogwarts. If he could not beat her in class, insulting her would be an excellent way to vent his anger, since he could not very well admit his childishness stemmed from the fact that she was academically more brilliant than he was. Depending on how one looked at it, that would be tantamount to political and personal suicide. At any rate, he could not bear to see her smiling with happiness when she glanced at her two bodyguards when he was suffering in misery because of her.

Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice someone running towards him in the carriage. In an instant, they collided into each other, and Draco's luggage was sent hurling through the air to the end of the carriage. A furious Draco recovered his composure rapidly, swiftly but roughly pulled the person by the collar while maintaining eye contact with her.

"You!"

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Thanks for reading this little work of mine!


	3. On Their Way to Hogwarts II

**On Their Way to Hogwarts II**

Excitedly, the rising air molecules waved at their unenthusiastic friends camouflaged amongst the brown particles, which the muggles called "earth". So eager were these molecules to escape the boring spot they were forced to inhabit that they resorted to various cunning and ruthless ways to edge out their counterparts for a chance to ascend to the surface of the earth. Whenever a water molecule attempted to force its way to the surface, the other molecules would unanimously collaborate to shove the poor molecule down farther into the deeper recesses of the earth. In case that particular molecule protested against the unfair treatment meted to it, the other molecules were also treated in the same way. Only the strongest molecule would be able to make it to the top of the earth and rise into the air. And to acknowledge its superiority over the rest of the weak and incompetent molecules, they were given a new name- "water vapour".

That was not all.

Much to the insane envy of the weaker molecules but to the utmost delight of the strongest molecule, the air molecule would experience a sudden loss in weight, a craze which was currently blazing through the molecule world like a wild bushfire. To add to the weight loss, the air molecule would also become extremely attractive. Sometimes it would blush a pretty, alluring pink at while at other times, it would glitter brightly like a bar of gold under the sunlight. Occasionally it would radiate such a fevering red passion that would subsume anything within five centimetres' radius within it. This sporadic demure-brazen charm of the female air molecule greatly appealed to the male molecules, be it the air or water molecule and added to their desire to become a stronger entity in order to pursue the love of their life.

Yet, unbeknownst to these molecules, fate has decided on another course for them.

The first signs of trouble arose when the first air molecule disappeared abruptly in the atmosphere.

Then a second…

… a third…

Strangely enough, these molecules never appeared again. Realising that something was amiss, these warm air molecules tried to delay their journey up into the pretty blue sky but it was a fruitless endeavour. Their almost weightless bodies did nothing to help either. If anything, it only escalated them through the air more rapidly than before. It was at that moment the water vapour realised a horrific irony- this fleeting experience of bliss and freedom in the breezy, wide space was only an illusion. It simply served as the prelude to their impending demise.

As this was happening in the atmosphere, a group of children was merrily playing amongst themselves, stomping on the soft, white sand that paved the coastline. They had no idea that the sand was suffering under their thoughtless trampling. Beautiful, fragrant flowers could be seen at the far end of the coast, protected by a straight, tidy row of huge coconut trees, whose luxurious green leaves dangled gracefully and lightly in the cool breeze. Undisturbed by the four seasons that occurred annually in temperate countries, the flowers flourished abundantly under the warm sun.

It was of no wonder that the children were enjoying themselves against the backdrop of such a scenic environment. Or perhaps they were unaware of the scenery that surrounds them, too indulged in the games they were involved in and the new friends who had just joined their company. Every few seconds or so, ecstatic laughter would ring through the air.

They had never been this happy in their lives.

And nor had she.

That was until she spied a dark shadow amongst the coconut trees.

* * *

Suspiciously, he stared at the mublood sleeping peacefully on the seat in the cabin. What ruse was she using now to get him into trouble? In a bid to foil her plan, he slapped her lightly on her cheek to indicate his knowledge of her ploy and make her give up her horrendous acting but she did not budge an inch. If anything, she continued with her deep sleep, seemingly unconscious of surroundings and Draco's presence. 

Draco did not understand it.

Had she overworked herself during the holidays or something? But she did not look like it. On the contrary, she looked more radiant than before, save for that bushy, dry brown hair which always appeared to be in tangles all the time. There was also no presence of dark eye bags under her eyes. Nor was she deathly pale, a familiar condition she would exhibit whenever the examinations were around the corner.

Yet, the moment he had grabbed her collar, she immediately slipped into the depths of unconsciousness. It was fortunate for him therefore, that there were no witnesses at the scene when that happened. Yet, even if Professor Snape were to be at the scene, he would most probably give Draco a stern warning and that would be the end of the dispute.

However, if McGonagall were to be present, she would most likely make a huge fuss of it, and possibly complain to the Headmaster. Nah, McGonagall was not much a tell-tale. She would not relate such an insignificant matter to the Headmaster, though she would definitely deduct a _lot_ of points off the Slytherin House. And he most certainly did not want to start off the new school term by depriving his House of any points or causing it of any deficit in points.

His thoughts were soon diverted from their track when he discerned numerous beads of perspiration oozing out of Hermione's forehead. Her lips slowly began to lose their vivacious pink colour and turn into a ghastly white colour. The veins and arteries in her face seemed to be losing their functionality as they drained away the remaining amount of blood left in her rosy cheeks without replenishing new blood to them. Her eyelids were fidgeting in an ominous manner, as if she wanted to wake up but was unable to do so for some reason. Her fingers were gripping the seat so tightly that they made several deep dents in the seat.

All that was lacking from the picture was a shrill hyena-like shriek.

Draco was not sure what to do. He had often witnessed such incidents in his mother but that was only because his father had just very severely reprimanded her. Then his mother would sit alone, very quietly in a corner of the room, usually in the dark for many hours before she recovered her composure again.

However, Hermione did not look as if she entertained the idea of sitting in a dark corner of a room all by herself. Something was scaring her in her dream, or rather nightmare. And if Draco could not urge her out of it in time, he could foresee the circumstances that were to ensue- first an acute high-pitched scream that had the ability to pierce through the hardest metal ever to exist on this universe, followed by an enormous earth-shattering pattering of feet heading towards their cabin, and finally, the finale to the scene, the thrashing of Draco Malfoy for attempted misbehaviour just because he happened to be leaning over the dreadful mudblood.

Of course, his Slytherin mates would think differently about the incident. Draco would even be worshipped as a king in his House. His friends would praise and rave at his plan at torturing the mudblood and soon a trend would follow after him. The thick-headed Slytherins would think it fashionable to attack mudbloods and would come up with various methods to humiliate them.

However, that would mean his father would get to hear of this embarrassing and shameful incident, remember the unsolicited prophecy and come down on him more harshly than ever before for his purported misconduct. Getting into his father's bad books was not on his "to-do" list right now.

"Hermione, wake up!" Draco could not resist slapping her hard on her cheek this time in his desperate attempt to get her out of her nightmare, "Hermione! Listen to me, snap out of it NOWWWW!"

Nevertheless she did not snap out of it. Instead her fingers left the deep dents they were making in the seat and wound their way around Draco's throat. Once her fingers settled snugly against his throat, she started slowly to increase their pressure on the vital spots that would cease his breathing immediately.

"What are yo… you doing!" Draco forced out a whisper from his throat as he tried to pry her fingers away from his throat. He never knew the girl could have so much strength in her. The bluish veins began to take their form on his temple as his normally pale face became red and distorted from the futile struggle for breath. "Le… let go!"

But she did not loosen her tight grasp on his throat. Running out of any ideas to pre-empt his impending death, he finally chose to use the least undesirable solution left. Mustering as much strength he possessed at that juncture, he grabbed hold of her throat, effectively blocking the airway to her lungs, hoping that would reduce her strength.

And was he right.

Within a few minutes, the sleeping Hermione experienced a huge discomfort in her chest and released her fingers from Draco's throat in order to get rid of the obstacle.

Almost at once, a terrified Draco rushed to the other side of the cabin while taking huge deep breaths to make up for the oxygen deficit in his lungs. He wondered if she did that often in her sleep. He was certain that with that amount of strength she displayed, she had left a huge bruise on his neck.

What was going on with Hermione anyway?

What did she dream about that made her frightened and violent at the same time?

* * *

She walked slowly towards the dark shadow, curious as to the identity of the dark shadow. If it was a child, she could coax him to join in the fun instead of watching the games alone from the sidelines. 

"Would you like to join us?" Hermione called out as she approached sufficiently close to the child, though she was still unable to make out his features very clearly. However, the child did not answer her. Instead, as Hermione took another step towards him, he took a step backwards.

"Don't be afraid." Hermione reached out her hand towards the child slowly, demonstrating her desire to be friendly, not threatening. However, that only caused the child to turn around and run away from her. It was then it dawned on her that she was not talking to a child but a teenager. Never the one to give up, she pursued the teenager, without realising she was leaving the paradise behind and heading towards a darker, more ominous place.

Suddenly, the stranger stopped in his footsteps and turned around to face her. Unfortunately, the darkness covered the features of his face. But she was not duly concerned with that as she became preoccupied with another sensation that was gradually overtaking her body- fear. It was at this instant she noticed the marked changes to her surroundings. The place gave off a sinister and dangerous vibe that she was not accustomed to. She could also feel no warmth here but a chill that coursed its way rapidly to her feet. She wanted to return to the paradise where she came from, where everybody was warm and affable, where beautiful flowers existed and trees grown but the darkness obscured her sense of direction.

A mature, feminine voice abruptly broke the silence. "You are Hermione, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not Hermione." She answered immediately as she struggled to recall her name in order to introduce herself to the stranger but to no avail. Her name was completely wiped out of her memory; first name, middle and even the last.

"Hermione, you don't belong here." The stranger reached out a hand towards her as she continued, "Your time is not up yet. Go back!"

"Of course, I do not belong here. It's dark and murky here. I want to go back to my friends at the beach."

"They brought back the wrong soul but they still refused to rectify the mistake. You aren't supposed to be dead, you hear me! You can still return to your body and they can't do anything about it."

"What are you talking about? Who's the 'they' you're talking about? I don't understand!"

"Don't you want to see your family again, little girl! They are crying bitterly over your untimely death at the hospital right now. You can get back to your corpse while it is still fresh. When it starts to decompose, then there's no chance for you to get back."

"What is a corpse? My family is not at the hospital; they are at the beach, waiting for me to join them."

"No, that's not your family. They did not want you clamouring for your parents, so they do things to your memory. You have to go back. I want you to go back."

The stranger grabbed her hands unexpectedly, causing Hermione to yelp.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this? You don't want to stay in this dark place? I can ask my family to take you in. They will definitely welcome you."

"You're right, Hermione." The stranger's voice softened considerably as she released her firm grip on Hermione's hands. "I don't want to stay here. And you're going to help me."

"Okay, let's go to the beach now."

"Hermione! They are not your family. Hermione! Listen to me, snap out of it NOWWWW!"

The abrupt change in the stranger's voice sent an unanticipated jolt through Hermione. Fragments of various images began to course through Hermione's mind very rapidly.

She suddenly saw a bank…

… some masked men…

… a fat lady getting shot…

… her mother getting shot …

No… her mother was not shot.

She… oh my god!

Hermione was the one who was shot.

* * *

"You are finally awake, Mudblood!" sneered the blond-haired boy in what he had hoped was a bored tone, as he rose and took his seat at the other side of the cabin again. No way was he going to allow her the pleasure of the fear he had experienced earlier. 

Her index fingers rubbing her eyes in a fervent manner in a bid to clear her woozy, sleep-laden head quickly, Hermione slowly raised herself from the seat. Languidly, she yawned widely while stretching her tired body at the same time. It was an absolute torture on her body to sleep in a cramped place like this.

It was at this moment she noticed the blonde sitting opposite her.

"Who are you?"

* * *

"Have you seen Hermione anywhere, Neville?" Harry asked the boy who was playing with a new toy his grandmother had bought for him. 

"Yes, I think I saw her at the last carriage just now."

"What do you have there, Neville?" Ron settled himself comfortably beside him as he took the object from him.

"A shoesting," Neville answered, "It glows red if you tell a lie and blue if you tell the truth."

"Wow, it sounds interesting. Your grandma got it for you?" Ron laughed as a sudden thought penetrated his mind, "Because you're always telling lies?"

"Hey!"

* * *

A suspicious Draco narrowed his eyes at the exaggeratedly calm and collected girl standing before him, wondering what tricks she had up in her sleeve before he spoke again. "_Who are you_?" 

"Well, it's only fair that I should know who I am speaking to. An introduction please?"

"An introduction _please_?" Draco echoed incredulously.

"Well, young man, while I understand you have successfully mastered the art of parroting others' questions, don't you think it's more useful to answer some of them instead? It would definitely help the progress of the conversation, don't you think?"

"What games are you playing at?" Draco could no longer take this suspense Hermione appeared to be consciously creating. In a movement akin to that of lightning, he aimed a swift kick to the back of an unsuspecting Hermione's knee, causing her to lose her balance before he pinned her to the ground under him.

Frowning in displeasure at his ungracious behaviour, Hermione wondered if they were even conversing on the same frequency. Or perhaps he was just plain dumb; in which case, it would be hopeless to get through to his thick head. Yet, the question of intellectual ability aside, the boy did have a tremendous amount of strength in him, she acknowledged silently as she squirmed under his powerful grip in order to move herself into a more comfortable position and reduce the force of his grip. Nevertheless, the sight of the irked but helpless boy enticed her somewhat and she could not resist a dig at him. "What do you me… mean what ga… games am I playing at?"

"Stop answering my question with another question!" Furiously, Draco glared at her and tightened his hands around her neck in a threatening manner that revealed of the dire consequences that were to follow should she try another trick to avoid his question again. "Answer me!"

Undaunted, Hermione pried his hands away from her neck and forcefully pushed him off her, surprising Draco for a moment for he did not think she was capable of such strength. "You'd really do something about that nasty temper of yours." Then she straightened the creases on her clothes and swinging her bag over her left shoulder, headed towards the cabin door.

"Where are you going?" Still bewildered at the sudden change in Hermione's personality, Draco asked stupidly.

"Leaving the cabin?" The girl stated the obvious as she roughly slid the door open, "Do I have to seek your permission to do that?"

With that statement, she strutted out of the cabin, leaving the ever confused Draco in her wake.

* * *

As usual, the girls' toilet on the second floor was flooded after a few Slytherins' inconsiderate and playful act, namely that of betting on who could get Moaning Myrtle to cry within five seconds. Gingerly, Hermione stepped into the least frequented place in Hogwarts, careful not to get her clean shoes wet. The door gave a lingering whine as it slowly closed behind her but the whine was no competition for the childish but overwhelming bawling that was reverberating off the grimy walls at that moment. 

Everything in the toilet had remained in the same state as Hermione remembered, although the mirrors were now coated with a new layer of dust and several greasy fingerprints. A small fragment of a cracked mirror dangled dangerously from its parent piece, reluctant to leave its proper place for the godforsaken sink.

Hermione was about to wipe off the dust on the mirror when she heard a childish voice behind her, "Are you going to use the Polyjuice to transform yourself into someone else again?"

Nonchalantly, Hermione picked up the offending rubbish that was clogging the sink, allowing the water to flow into the rusty, creaky pipes with ease. She then turned around to face the ghost that had inhabited the toilet for many years.

"Feeling upset because someone threw their rubbish here again?"

Moaning Myrtle narrowed her already tiny eyes at Hermione, resembling a Siamese cat at that point in time. Although there was no physical evidence present, the ghost could tell something was not right with Hermione the moment she stepped into the toilet. For one, the vibe she gave off was different. The way Hermione asked her the question further confirmed her instinct. Typically, Hermione would not even bother talking to her unless the Myrtle disturbed her. However, the ghost always forgave her for she was grateful for Hermione's presence. It was boring sometimes staying alone in the toilet. Throughout the years she had inhabited the place, only four people had actually tried to carry on a decent conversation with her. Harry, Ron, Hermione and…

_Keid_.

Myrtle's eyes dimmed considerably as the last name came to her mind. She was the first person who had spoken to her on a daily basis, discussing her homework and her life with the ghost, giving her a new lease of life previously not experienced while she was still alive and definitely not in her afterlife. Keid even volunteered to clean up the toilet, so that more students would use it, hoping that in the process, they would make friends with Moaning Myrtle. Nonetheless, a hard-hearted Flich refused to repair some of the broken pipes, which resulted in the dwindling number of students utilising the place. Gradually, everything fell into disrepair and rumours began to surface amongst the students about a crazy, fearful ghost haunting the girls' toilet. It was most unfortunate that her confidante should die under Voldermort's hands. She had been the only person who seriously listened to her troubles…

"MM! What's with that forlorn look on your face?"

Myrtle's jaw dropped in surprise. Keid had found Moaning Myrtle's name very long and tedious to pronounce, thus she abbreviated her name to MM. Ever since Keid died, Myrtle had not heard anyone call her by that nickname anymore.

On this note, the transparent ghost squinted her eyes furiously at Hermione as she hissed, "Who are you? How do you know about MM?"

"It's me! It's me, Keid!" An excited Hermione tried to hug her but to no avail, since Myrtle had no tangible body to begin with. "Do you remember me?"

"If it's a joke, it's not funny, Miss Hermione Granger." Myrtle glared at her in a venomous manner, her eyes becoming grotesquely huge that her eyes appeared to be popping out of their sockets. Under the intensity of her anger, cracks began to form in the sinks. Soon the corroded pipes broke apart, spurting out water in huge amounts everywhere, threatening a massive flood of the second floor toilets. Her usually prim mouth opened so wide that it was huge enough to swallow up Hermione as she hollered at Hermione like thunder crashing across a dark stormy sky, "And to use a treasured memory against a defenceless vulnerable ghost, what do you hope to achieve?"

"No! No! I just…" Nervously, Hermione faltered a little, backing away from Moaning Myrtle, as if wondering if she should continue, "I just wanted to see my best friend, that's all."

Moaning Myrtle showed no signs of letting up at all. "Don't think I'm easy to fool."

"No! I came back in Hermione's body…" Hermione pranced up and down the toilet, her hands pulling at her bushy brown hair in frustration at the futile attempts to explain herself properly, "I can't stay long in this body… I mean, I'm really Keid… You're really speaking to Keid. Please believe me."

Something in her speech and the effect of her pleading eyes stopped Myrtle in her monstrous rage. "Alright then, tell me one thing nobody but me knows."

"My boyfriend is Marcus Anchovy."

Myrtle's anger dissipated as soon as she heard the name spoken from Hermione's mouth. Instead she roared with utmost laughter, her hands clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her pale white cheeks.

Like a child, Hermione pouted as she rested her hands on her waist. "I never get why you laugh so hard at that name."

"But Anchovy _is_ a funny name." Moaning Myrtle snorted in a fruitless bid to control her laughter as she commented, "Especially when he looks like a herring himself. It makes it all the more hilarious." Following which, she guffawed even more loudly.

"He does, doesn't he?" Heaving a small sigh, Hermione went about mopping the floor clean of any water.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Moaning Myrtle floated towards Hermione when a sudden thought struck her. "How did you turn up in Hermione's body?"

"The Soul Seizers took away Hermione's soul although she was not supposed to die, so I made a pact with her. If I can bring her back to life, she is to allow me use her body occasionally…"

"When did that happen? What took you so long to see me?"

"That happened some ten years ago, I think. To revive Hermione took a lot of my effort than I had imagined, especially when I had to bring back two souls to life. I had to spend several years recovering from the exhaustion but I can't stay in her body for long either. I'm getting weaker every day. I've to leave this body one day."

"Is Hermione aware of your presence?" Moaning Myrtle enquired thoughtfully while she settled herself comfortably on top of the sink and tried to hold Hermione's hand in order to comfort her.

"Yes. There was once I nearly gave myself away on the first day of school. I even asked him who he was. Gosh, I just hope that he didn't remember that incident."

"Why did you return?"

* * *

Responses to reviews: 

I am not sure if I understand your questions correctly. If I don't, pls feel free to correct me.

Hermione is the one with the streak of white hair, so "the girl with the white streak of hair" aka Hermione has already appeared. The entire fringe from the roots to the ends are white. Nobody can see the white streak because she has dyed her hair brown, but the problem of her white hair will always exist. Because it can neverbecome brown again, she has to constantly use colour spray to fix the roots of the fringe when it grows. As to why she has the white fringe, or the sudden memory loss etc, you've got to read subsequent chapters to find out.

I hope this clarifies some of the doubts you may have. Thanks for reading the fic and your reviews. In the future, any questions posed during reviews etc will be answered through the profile page, so pls check the profile page for my replies. I will post my replies when I update the next chapter. Thanks.


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